Awareness
There was a pithy art on velvety rock.
The turban was flying
churning out the outrage.
No sanitized verse was needed
to explain xenophobia.
We were white tigers.
Lurking behind the moon
was a lute, with broken strings.
A sluice opens the grief of sky.
Show me your palm with full
of curses. Where do you want
to leave the prints of death ?
Alphabets were counting the
steps, towards non-center. The
boundaries were collapsing.
Satish Verma
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